This Unholy Satire
by anatiadephobic
Summary: A girl has a wish she didn't mean to make granted by something she didn't know existed. Follows the life and times of a vigilante pseudo-Case-53 granted powers by an external agent, at an unknown price. Pseudo-SI with compromised meta-knowledge that might end up being more harm than good. Worm CYOA v5, Update Gimel. Rated M for violence, death, and implied sexual themes.
1. Prologue: Earth Bet Inbound

A/N- Hi! This is my first published work. Please don't kill me. I don't really expect critical reception to be gentle, or even expect critical reception at all, but hey. Girl's gotta hope.

As stated in the story synopsis right up there, the powers, skills, and general situation of the protagonist were built with the Worm CYOA v5. I don't own either the Worm CYOA or Worm.

The specific build used won't be actually put out there, so you'll just have to extrapolate from the capabilities she presents~! Or the monologues. Lots of those...

Anyway, thanks for reading. Criticisms appreciated. Updates Soon™.

Edit: Text freshened up by the story's new beta, Mr. Jengablock!

* * *

 _I retched, tears running down my face._

 _Bile spilled onto the pavement. It smelled like death. Everything did - but maybe it was just my head messing with me. I was gripping my hoodie, ripped off in a mad rush as I was taken by an all-consuming nervous claustrophobia. Bright red blood stained it, half-hidden against its colors, but I still held it for dear life as I began to run, as if it could protect me from what I had done._

 _It wasn't fireproof._

* * *

I woke up with open eyes.

This was odd. I did not usually wake up with open eyes; that implies that I slept with open eyes, which can be a serious medical condition. I met someone like that once. It was a little terrifying, the way that they slept with their vacant eyes pointed upwards - but, well, it took me a few more seconds to make a much more pertinent observation.

There was no ceiling. And I was staring at a cloudy sky. In a dark alleyway. ...Hey, that one sort of looks like a really fluffy bunny-

I yelped, surging onto my feet as blood rushed into my head. My vision darkened for a moment–cursed be low blood pressure–but I stabilized myself quickly even as I hyperventilated.

What the hell? Where was I? My imagination pulled up several worst-case scenarios - I could have been knocked out by a mugger, had my kidneys stolen, ra- not going there (No pain though, and I don't smell anything iffy).

I checked my pockets. No wallet, no phone, no keys–thank fuck, they didn't take my school keycard, I'd have to actually talk to that insufferable secretary–

That's not my school keycard.

I pulled the much thinner card from my hoodie's pocket, inspecting its featureless and black surface. In my limitless wisdom, I noted that there was something odd in the background. Particularly in regards to my body.

No, I didn't change my sex or anything clichéd like that. Really, that'd probably be a lot easier on me, if a little more psychologically bothering. No. There was a much more relevant issue than my genitals.

Hooves. I have hooves. And, uh, leg fur. Lots and lots of very black, fluffy leg fur. It looked like a weird fur bottom on my pants, but the terrible itching I was starting to feel now that the adrenaline was coming down got rid of that possibility.

Ohhhhh. I get it. I get it now. I felt my head get a little lighter. I giggled involuntarily, pocketing my newfound Bat-card as I covered my mouth. With my blue-skinned hands, I noted, peeking at the space between my glove and wrist. My heart started beating a little faster, as I ran a hand across my face.

On my forehead, my fingers began to trace the base of what felt like a set of smooth horns that curved around my skull, like that of a young goat, but somewhat oversized. There was no sensation from them, but touching the base produced an odd tingle that made my hands flinch away.

Reaching down, I could also feel what seemed like a thin, arrow-tipped tail tucked into the back of my hoodie, writhing against its bonds slightly, though I could just barely sense it. I froze.

Then I collapsed into full-blown laughter, my head thrown back as the utter ridiculousness of my predicament set in. I knew what had happened; I had, after all, decided on this very appearance on a whim a long time ago.

I liked planning and letting my imagination run wild across fictional worlds. This naturally attracted me to the concept of choice games. Of course, I couldn't have ended up with one of the horribly overpowered comfort or immortality builds that I'd made over the years. It had to be this: the one where I'd purposefully made myself a squishy inhuman grab-bag vigilante optimized for mass terrorism, that didn't even get powers until… something, happened. I couldn't remember what the triggering conditions were, or if I had written any. Actually, did I doom myself into staying an unpowered vigilante for the rest of my life?

…

No, that was too horrible to think about. I couldn't remember exactly what powers I picked out, either. It'd been a while ago, but I did remember one thing. I'd paid for more powers with a single day of horrible, disastrous bad luck. In summary… _Hello, Earth Bet. Please don't kill me_.

I realized after a moment that I had said that out loud and sighed nervously, looking around to check for anyone that could have heard me. Mad amusement gave way to consternation, and I took a moment to regain my footing before deigning to exit this sorry excuse for an alleyway before I was dogpiled by gangsters. Surprise disadvantage-mandated gangsters. I had a plan, of course, from long evenings spent thinking about what I would do if I ever found myself in Worm. I'd simply go to the authorities and make myself useful with the metaknowledge I had. I'm sure Cauldron would appreciate someone who knew what I did about the original timeline. Or maybe Contessa would just shoot me on sight.

I paused, before scowling and looking up at the sky, a defiant look on my face.

"Contessa, Contessa, CONTESSA!"

Nothing happened. I looked around, pursing my lips. After a moment, I tried again.

"Cauldron, Cauldron, Cauldron! … Fortuna, Fortuna, Fortuna?"

A newspaper page was blown by the wind in the street in front of me. Nothing continued to be the general response.

Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. Not eager to start hyperventilating again, I began to think up a plan to get in touch with the bastards in charge–if only to distract myself. I sighed, pulling up my hood and walking up to the street. It seemed to be rather late in the evening, and the streets were gloomy and empty aside from the occasional passerby. About four out of five were Asian, I noted. I was careful not to assume that this was ABB territory just because there were Asian people. That'd be _waaay_ racist of me, after all. Instead, what clued me in were the garish gang tags strewed around the place.

...Well, fuck you kindly, Earth Bet. I quickly realized that, too, was said out loud, before muttering wrathful nothings at myself and walking on. I'd have to find a payphone of some sort, hopefully somewhere that didn't seem like it had an average of one murder per square meter.

In retrospect, that whole deal should've clued me in not to walk blindly across a corner. I guess the idiocy of calling your gang the 'Azn Bad Boyz' somewhat boggled my mind. I mean, really, Lung? You really couldn't think of any-

I ran into someone.

I instinctively lowered my head, rolling with the sudden shove and clued in by what sounded like a loud, japanese swear. I really, really hoped they wouldn't look down at my feet. Or notice the horns under the hoodie. I also really hoped they'd let me go–three pairs of legs, all clad in shirts with green on them, and jeans, from my limited field of view. Very much not something I'm prepared for.

"I- I'm s-sorry! I don't want any trouble!," I stuttered.

I'd have liked to say it was a clever ruse to make them underestimate me, and maybe use whatever remnant of empathy they might have to my benefit. But, well, I was really just… scared. I'd definitely ran into my fair share of wannabe gangbangers back in public school, and saw at least three muggings, if only at a distance, and I'd never been really intimidated by them–even sort of talked to one once (It might have been nice if he wasn't holding a plastic bag full of joints and hitting on me).

But, well, nobody had actually ever tried to intimidate me. I kept to myself. This was definitely out of my experience. The pistol-shaped bulge at the frontman's hip, under his shirt, didn't help.

"Watch where you go, bitch! What the fuck is a whiny little shit like you even doing around here anyway? You lost?", he sneered. The rough, somewhat accented voice brought me out of my thoughts.

Experience taught me that gang members were definitely people too instead of cardboard cutouts, and therefore mostly didn't go out of their day to fuck with people for no reason. I had to assume that I'd caught this guy and his friends on a bad day - and that meant trouble.

"S-sorry!", I repeated. A verbal tic that I'd never quite gotten rid of - compulsive apologizing. I was definitely thinking much clearer than I normally would've but I was still fairly nervous. "I- I was distracted! I didn't mean it! I- I don't know where this is and I just wanna go home!"

That made the gangsters pause, apparently. Evidently, they don't expect an affirmative response when asking if random people are lost.

(Maybe it helped a little that what I said was sort of true.)

There was some back and forth between the gangsters. Sadly, I didn't actually know Japanese (and isn't it awfully convenient that they all speak it? Must be an established unit), even if I could sort of recognize it.

"...Fucking hell. Nobody's ever actually been lost before." On a cue, the other two gangsters snorted, shooting off what sounded like Japanese snark at what seemed to be the leader: he seemed older than the other two, by his voice which was a particularly manly, early twenties tone, made more striking by the contrast with the other two in their late teens. I'm not sure what I was expecting - but it sure wasn't this. Maybe they were actually decent people, after all?

He continued. "Hey, show me your face." I paused at that.

"Um- uh, sorry," _fucking hell_ , "why?"

He sounded like he was grinning now. It didn't sound like a nice grin.

"So I can see if you're pretty enough to pay me for my help, bitch."

My heart dropped into a pit inside my chest. My extremities started to tingle. I couldn't tell when I'd started biting my lip, but I could feel the coppery taste of blood flowing on my tongue. "I mean, you've got nice tits-" I could feel the echo of tears in my eyes as they widened (At least now I knew why he didn't notice the hooves). "But it wouldn't do to stick my dick inside a monkey, huh?" My whole body started to tremble. Something snapped inside me. His hand reached for my chin. It felt like a million cockroaches skittering towards me–and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Except there was, now. I didn't have to be a victim (weak) anymore. I inwardly touched a part of me that I'd been repressing: unconscious, kinesthetic knowledge that somehow didn't connect to memory. It felt like the way I knew how to breathe, but more… alien. Like a thrumming, energetic urge to move, but skillful and connected with a deep, insidious drive for aggression. I'd done martial arts before, but this part of my mind was synchronized with my being on a much more fundamental level than my half-hearted taekwondo lessons. The floodgates opened, and, well…

I knew seven ways to kill a man with a handkerchief and a keychain.

I'm... not really sure what happened to me at that point. I just felt a touch on my chin and -

 _krcK_ \- "AHHH!" -I felt something snap in my hand.

It was an absolutely exhilarating feeling, that crackle, realizing what I had done. On some level, I just wanted to run away, to take the men's shock after that surge and leave without getting into more trouble - but that didn't matter at the moment. I was… angry. More than I'd care to admit to myself. The sheer feeling of power that coursed through me probably had a good deal to do with it. I'd never… hurt someone like that before. And these men felt like a representation of everything I hated about the world.

I really, really wanted to hurt them more. And I felt like I could, so I did.

He never saw it coming - In what felt like an instant, I threw a hooved snap kick to his groin and pulled his extended arm towards me with my left hand, my right swiftly punching him in the nose, and he fell like a sack of chopped meat, caught between trying to protect his nethers and face. Nothing hurt. There was a very distinct lack of the aches and pains I was used to living with, leaving me with a heavenly feeling of weightlessness and strength.

There was a gun in my hand - did I take it from the gangster? Somehow, it didn't seem to matter. I just felt a comforting certainty of what I had to do.

Aim. Squeeze.

 _BANG_.

Turn a bit left. Squeeze.

 _BANG_.

My ears rang - guns were loud. But it didn't make me flinch or blink; even as the two followers collapsed, droplets of blood mixed with brain matter flying out of their heads, I wasn't quite done. The handgun felt less like a weapon in my hands and more like a toy as I pointed it downwards,. Much lighter than I'd have expected–though it was more likely that I was the strange one, rather than the gun. I pulled the trigger, the crystal clarity in my mind fading away when it was no longer needed.

 _BANG_.

I couldn't help it. My finger twitched, I fired again.

 _BANG_.

I could help it, this time. I just didn't want the silence to go on.

 _BANG_.

...His insides were outsides now. Heh.

I puked.

Wish fulfillment isn't all it's cracked to be. I wanted to go home now. I prayed to anything that might hear as the tears started to flow.

God may have heard, but he didn't listen. Something else did.

I heard a roar.


	2. Chapter One - Anomalous Events

For a single, ridiculous moment, the smell of cooking chemical explosives got me to wonder how I'd ended up here; in some deadbeat apartment trying to make heavy ordinance to fight a bunch of superheroes, Nazi Batman, and a dragon, aided by several kilograms of human-derived carbon ash.

The megaphone roaring from outside brought me out of my stupor just in time for me to turn off the stove.

It was probably the killing, I concluded, ducking under the counter to avoid the sniper scope glinting on the next building over.

Should've listened to Superman.

* * *

No time for thinking, or spewing my stomach out- I picked the cheap Glock back up by the barrel and got up, gritting my teeth. I wiped my eyes with a quiet, desperate noise as I prepared to get the hell out of dodge (I'm nothing if not good at compartmentalizing). It was _hot_ to the touch, though for some reason that didn't bother me. Something to think about later, I guessed.

A frenzied gulp accompanied my first step as I began to run away from the roar at panic-fueled speeds that I'd never come close to reaching before, much less with the pit in my chest and the sickly butterflies in my stomach. That wasn't at the forefront of my mind, of course, as I heard heavy, quick steps behind me, accompanied by a booming, yet oddly gurgling voice that sounded like it came from something not meant for human speech, backlit by the crackling sound of fire.

"-' _ **ILL YOU!**_ " was all I could make out of it. ...Nothing I hadn't guessed, honestly. Might've even thrown in a 'your next words will be…' if I wasn't…

…Hairs away from crying, recently rid of my stomach content, bloodstained, traumatized…

...Yeah. Easy list to make.

Thankfully, none of that seemed to impair anything but my visibility as I climbed over a chain link fence, stumbling slightly as I dropped down, awkwardly rolling back into a sprint. I thought I could feel my skin scrape against the pavement, even through my clothes, but I kept running, hooves clacking against the pavement. Anything would be better than stopping and leaving myself at the mercy of a murderous dragon gang leader who apparently couldn't string together a proper sentence without being blinded by sheer rage at me. I could hear metal crumpling. Hooves were apparently great for running.

...Surely I hadn't made him that angry by killing three of his men–I turned a corner, narrowly avoiding an approaching torrent of heat–right? Maybe I could… make him calm down. Another roar sounded. I had to duck into an alley to avoid a thrown piece of rubble. Right, dumb idea. I looked up at a fire escape leading to a roof conveniently right above a dumpster.

Too good to be true, but I didn't have the time for second-guessing. I leaped my way onto the dumpster, quickly riding the momentum with another jump and a step from the wall -

As I grabbed the catwalk, I realized something.

The most freerun-y thing I'd ever done was vault over a fence just under the height of my chest. Hell, I could barely hold a pull-up for a few seconds. Since when could I just-

The rusted metal bar I was holding onto broke. My hands grabbed for air, and I curled up into myself, bracing for the fall. My side hit the thick metal lid of the dumpster, an overwhelming agony piercing through the veil of adrenaline and leaving me gasping and hacking as I rolled away from the side that was almost certainly going to be horribly bruised, if not fractured. I winced, trying desperately to push myself up. I fell each time.

It started getting warmer. I could feel the world shaking as the _dragon_ stepped up behind me, eliciting another attempt at pushing myself up - which, again, only led to another spike of pain. I uselessly took hold of the fallen pistol with my good arm, gritting my teeth. There was still a little bit of blood in my mouth, so I spat it out - maybe making me look a bit more injured than I actually was.

I tried choking out a desperate apology, but nothing came out but miserable, helpless vocalizations.

The temperature raised up to a raging inferno; my skin should be burning, but it wasn't. The sound of wrenching metal as a large, scaled hand gripped the side of the dumpster kept me from thinking about it. The monster spoke, its voice slightly lower than the previous utter fury.

" _ **...**_ **I'll teach you not to** _**steal**_ **from me,** _ **girl."**_

...what.

...Oh. He thought I was… with the Undersiders? He had no idea what he was doing.

…That made be a bit angry. More than a bit, actually. In fact, it _pissed me off_. My teeth ground against each other, the hand around my gun trembling more with each passing second.

He'd just… assumed the fleeing satyr girl was with the people who robbed his cassino, then? Just fixed his rage on the easy target. In fact, I bet those thrill-seeking little shits were having a nice escape right now, glad that they didn't have to deal with the fallout of their actions. Hey, maybe I'm being a little unfair, but-

" _FUCK YOU!"_ , I shrieked, as I began to unload every last bullet in the admittedly high-capacity Glock straight into Lung's right eye, prompting him to cover his it with a hand and throw a torrent of fire at me.

I didn't stop. Instead of dying a painful death as the firestorm around me made the the metal steam and my clothes catch on fire, I just switched my aim to his other eye, and as he covered that too, his throat. He fell. I could see his metallic scales properly now that I turned to look at him, and they were definitely growing. Right. Escalating regenerator. The gun clicked, and clattered to the floor. I ignored the (decreasing, strangely) pain as I pushed myself up, hopping off-

I jumped over sixty meters into the air fast enough for the sheer force of the wind to make me close my eyes on reflex. I won't lie, I screamed my ears off. Who wouldn't? I was zipping through the air, about to land on a gravel roof at speeds way faster than humans are supposed to travel at. I was understandably surprised when I landed on my back with a light thud and not much more than some protest from my wounded side.

I stumbled onto my hooves, with some difficulty, checking over myself. That had apparently put out the majority of the fire on my shirt and pants ( I still patted out a few embers), though they were very noticeably charred and tattered.

Not that anything like that was on my mind. Jesus _tapdancing_ christ, how many powers did I even have? I'd just shrugged off fire even though I didn't apparently have protecting against slamming into a trash can, and _then_ I slammed into someone's roof with no repercussions? Am I gaining powers?

...That made sense. I remember picking out a lot of them, mixing and matching optimal combinations.

Obviously, though, I wasn't getting the ones I needed to actually beat up Hookwolf for his lunch money, like basically everyone in the stories did. Why couldn't I just have picked out something punchier and blastier, for once?

An enraged roar once again startled me out of my thoughts - that seemed impossible just before, but

Lung sounded _angrier_ now. I gritted my teeth, pressing on and bracing for another jump. As soon as my legs flexed, I zipped through the air, once again far too fast for proper action without goggle. I only screamed a little, this time, and managed to land on my feet at the next building over. I kept going, starting to jump just as I landed, building up horizontal speed as I flew through the city.

...I was still going to make Lung pay for what happened.

…

Somehow. I'd figure it out eventually.

* * *

I had no idea where I was going.

I mean. I could tell I was in a residential area, but that was sort of it. I guess the only real goal I had in mind was getting to safety, and I wasn't super confident in my chances with the Protectorate right now, so…

I landed on the roof of an apartment block. Sadly, the roof access door was locked from the inside. So I kicked it open.

...What? I can't be blamed for breaking and entering if I'm running away from a dragon. There was to be a law about that written somewhere.

The walk down the stairs was… refreshing. I'd had the time to get my thoughts together while jumping from building to building but I wasn't anywhere near safe. Even now I was darting my eyes around, looking for the next threat. Fortunately, it was nearing sundown, so that meant I had a good chance of lasting the next few hours without incident.

With a little grunt, I set my rear down on a stair step, shifting a little at the sensation of having… goat legs. There's really no proper way to describe it in terms of human sensation–I will say that not having toes or soles but still walking like I did felt _weird_ , now that I think about it. Though my weird uploaded skillset seems to have what I need to make it work.

...Stupid minmaxing. I shouldn't have shot my chances of survival to hell for, what, two points? It felt even stupider thinking about it like that. A sniffle left my nose. I wiped at my eyes, frowning at the wall. I shouldn't pity myself. I have superpowers. I shot Lung in the face so hard he actually fell over!

I heard a step. I looked to the side, seeing a little, brown-haired girl in a pair of pink slippers and polka dot pajamas. Couldn't be older than seven. I froze.

"Uh. Hi?", I attempted.

She screamed, running away from me and into an ajar apartment door. Christ. I wasn't that ugly, was I? I'd have to get a good look at a mirror when I had the time. A door opened at the other side of the corridor, revealing a black-haired Asian man with strict features peeking out of it, hands out of sight.

His empty, empty eyes narrowed as he looked at me.

Instincts had me ducking and rolling to the side, ignoring the residual pain from my wounds. A blow passed over me, and I kicked the leg out from under the attacker - just in time to see another of them show up in front of me as the man behind the door disappeared into a burst of white ashes.

Oni Lee.

...Why? _Why?_ Does he even live in an apartment? Wasn't he supposed to be totally deadened and only react to people telling him to do things? I swiped a knife from the clone still on the floor, throwing it at the chest of the one in front of me, before elbowing the one behind me in the stomach. They didn't seem to be using knives, so maybe he had orders to take me alive? They all disappeared in short order. This continued for another iteration, before he seemed to realize that this pattern wasn't working.

Which he seemed to try rectifying by having six clones surround me in short order.

I'm not sure why I knew how each of them were approaching me, but I did. I was jaded to having more secondary powers than Superman at this point, so I didn't dig into it too hard, instead focusing on quickly taking down the clones. They didn't seem to leave any blood behind after dissipating as I kicked a few of their skulls open (Hooves were very, very useful for that) and cut them with their own knives.

It was easy to dehumanize him, really, especially in the heat of battle. He managed to grapple me several times, landing a few hits each time before I ripped and teared my way out of his grip.

I'm not sure when I closed my eyes. The ash was starting to sting, and for some reason I just knew everything Oni Lee did around me just as he did it. I held a clone's head in my hand, smashing it into the wall hard enough to crack the skull as I kicked another away and threw a knife at yet another. I slowly grew more comfortable with all of it. Much calmer, too. It was getting easy to predict his movements, though he always teleported away before the thrown knife touched his main body. Not for long, I hoped.

I started getting faster. My punches started breaking his bones much more easily, and everything just felt so… clear. The rest of the day stopped mattering so much.

I didn't feel much of anything but the rhythm.

It was like a dance. Except I was covered in dust and murdering all the respawning dancers in increasingly bloody ways. The wounds Oni Lee managed to inflict on me, even when he finally began going for the kill with his knives, seemed to fade away as I killed his clones, encouraging me to do it even more. In a single, fluid movement, I feinted a knife throw at him, before following his gaze and whirling around to where he was looking -

The knife teleported an inch away from his throat, before slicing open the artery on his neck and fading to ash. He stumbled, and teleported down the stairs, facing the wall. The clone he left behind lamely tried to throw knives at me, before falling over. Before he could move his head, I threw one last knife from a nearby corpse onto the back of his head. It faded, painting the inside of his skull a white like snow.

Apportation. Ultimately the most useful and memorable power I'd picked out.

I took in the scent, closing my eyes. I didn't know how long that lasted, but I found myself thinking that maybe it hadn't been…

...That it hadn't been long enough? I paused. My eyes opened.

What the actual fuck just happened to me.

I walked over to the door to the apartment Oni Lee resided in. A man came out of one of the other doors, holding the little girl in his arms as he looked at me in horror and ran down the stairs, not even stopping as he saw the corpse. I looked at my hands, covered by both a layer of my thin gloves and one of white carbon ash. I blew it away, before taking off the ruined gloves, leaving me with just the dust on me and my similarly ruined clothes.

...I'm really glad I didn't count how many clones I killed. And that I have modesty fur on my legs. Really, really glad. Hey. Wait. What's that noise?

I frowned, closing the apartment door behind me. I heard sirens approaching quickly, and the faint sound of crying from a neighbouring apartment. The sirens very quickly got louder; it didn't sound at all like a single patrol car. I looked down at the floor, seeing another person - a young, pretty woman, cutting a nice figure in a red bodysuit with some sort of rune on it.

With her throat slit, tied to a chair that was kicked down on the floor.

Othala. Power granter. Healer.

That shade of red hid blood really well. I took several deep, calming breaths, slowly walking to the couch and laying down, rubbing at my face slowly. A loud, booming voice sounded from outside out of what sounded like a megaphone.

" _This is Armsmaster! We have you surrounded! Release the hostage and you won't be harmed!"_

A minute passed as I stared at the ceiling, taking deep breaths. The phone on the table beside me rang, and I answered it, taking the old-fashioned dial phone and holding it to my ear.

" _Hello? My name is Nathan, I'm a police negotiator with the BPD…"_

"Call again in a few minutes. She's bleeding. Don't enter the building." I crushed the phone in my hand, staring at the ceiling.

I screamed.

* * *

A/N- Things escalate! This arc is ending soon enough, and it'll go into some lighter stuff as our daring protagonist's karma finally stabilizes.

Edit: Chapter beta'd by Mr. Jengablock, once again! Round of applause for them.


	3. Chapter Two - Desperation

I'm not sure how long it took for me to get back to my senses. I had to have been screaming for a pretty long while, considering how my throat felt. Uneasily, I glanced around myself. Most of the furniture in the living room was ripped apart: foam from ripped cushioning strewn around the room, pieces of wood from the table and chairs, and a pile of shattered glass and porcelain where a modest glass display cabinet filled with plates and cups used to be.

There was a small ring of tidiness around Othala's chair, if you didn't consider the fresh corpse and blood. I guess I couldn't bring myself to go near it, even in my stupor.

Absently, I reached for the fallen tablecloth, draping it over the neo-nazi as I considered my situation. I couldn't have much time before the Armsmaster decided that it was time for an emergency assault.

 _brrr-_

Something vibrated under the cloth. I sighed sharply, looking down at the cloth and doing my best to think of it as nothing more than packaged meat. I sort of wanted whatever it was to stop, if only for the excuse to not get near Otha- the corpse.

 _brrr-_

My prayers continued to have no effect. I'd probably do better with a pentagram drawn in blood and some sacrifices. Preferably virgins. I kneeled down.

 _brrr-_

…My mind goes strange places when I don't want to do something. I lifted a section of the cloth, having a look at the corpse's hip. There was a small black brick phone mounted on a utility belt, which I quickly unclasped and answered. There was silence for a moment.

"… _Othala? Othala, are you there?"_ The male voice sounded young and surprisingly confident for someone who was calling a dead woman, but it betrayed some worry.

"…Who is it?", I asked uneasily. I checked the caller ID: 'V'.

I had an idea of who that was. The caller must have been a little befuddled, because he took a moment to respond.

"… _I am Victor, of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Who am I speaking to? And where did you get this phone?"_ His voice was more aggressive, but was still unfailingly polite.

Well, he _is_ a neo-nazi, but I guess he's being nice. I should be too.

"Faun." was my reflexive response. Dammit. I guess it's a decent cape name. "…With a ' _U_ '. And it was on a belt." Okay, sure, I was stepping around the issue, but telling a guy his wife is dead is hard.

He paused for a few seconds again. God this is awkward.

" _I see. I'd be willing to offer a handsome reward if you were to-"_

"She's dead, Jim." _Oh my god what did I just say._ There was another long pause. I ended it, this time. "Sorry about that. Slit throat. Lots of blood." The silence that followed was absolutely maddening.

"… _ **Die**_ _."_ The amount of vehemence in that word was enough to make me flinch, even over the admittedly low-quality phone.

I don't think he handled that very well.

At least I didn't crush the phone this time.

Suddenly, as I rubbed my face, the more rational part of my brain woke up. My eyes widened, and I leaned back.

 _Oh god. I'm an absolute moron._ He thinks I killed her. I just gave the nazis reason to do their best to kill me. I can't do this. Hookwolf is immune to bullets, Kaiser could probably get through my hooves with his blades. They had a million ways to kill me and there was nothing I could-

 _As thoughts twisted and writhed inside my brain, my mind exploded._

It's a peculiar feeling. Very hard to describe. Almost like waking up from a dream, and finding that your mind was so much duller, and that there were so many things that you missed. Except everything was still just as real. Just simpler. My awareness of myself and the world around me sharpened.

I may still be a socially awkward satyr with limited life experience. But that didn't change the fact that I had way too many superpowers to be worried about white supremacist supervillains. Sure, I couldn't punch Hookwolf to death, and I probably couldn't take Victor one-on-one without preparation. Or, uh. Most Empire capes, period.

But that didn't make Batman any less dangerous, did it?

I rushed to the kitchen. Time was of the essence. I'm not sure when I learned to make high-explosive charges out of wiring, cleaning supplies, soap, a phone, and ash - but it definitely seemed really, really obvious now.

* * *

And that's the story of why I was currently madly pouring liquid explosives and napalm into a shaped charge.

One might wonder why that's necessary - well, as luck would have me, the only window leading directly outside in this apartment is facing the definitely sniper-covered road carpeted in PRT agents. They probably weren't exactly loaded for Lung, but that wouldn't stop a single stray bullet from making my brains fly with the wind. Especially not with my luck. And I couldn't exactly walk out into the building and look for somewhere else - that way led to ambushes. So there was only one real option.

The demolitions specialist's motto: if you don't have a way out, blow one open with maximum prejudice. They were probably expecting me through the window–but not through the bathroom wall. So that's where I'll be.

Of course, no plan is perfect. This one failed to account for several things.

One thing I didn't take into account, is that capes don't have to follow the standard stratagems of infantry combat. When you try suppressing fire with Alexandria, she doesn't stay in cover, she catches the bullets with her face while impassively flying towards you. Similarly, a lone cape can reliably walk into a combat situation alone and walk out victorious, depending on the situation. No tactical fuss or squads of people in heavy combat boots striding in formation necessary.

The other thing I didn't take into account is that Armsmaster is ridiculously ninja-like, even in his combat armor, and has a _fucking grappling hook_ in his halberd. Cheater.

* * *

I was getting just about to close the charge when it happened. The cap was in my hand, and I was at most thirty seconds away from blowing the wall open. But it was too late.

The roof exploded. And sadly, it wasn't my doing. It was a clean explosion: a part of the living room roof was simply explosively cut into shape and slammed down into the floor. And there he was, in all his splendor, one knee on the floor and halberd at the ready as he gracefully went down along with the debris. His midnight blue armor gleamed in the little light that still shone into the room now that he blew off all the goddamn wiring, and he rose up with a flourish. The point of his polearm was pointed towards me.

" _It doesn't have to be this way! Step away from the device and turn yourself in!"_

There was a certain amazement to seeing a superhero for the first time. Someone truly larger than life, in a way entirely different from Lung or Oni Lee. A true paragon of truth, justice and accountability, here to help the weak and innocent when nobody else would.

Being spoken to like that by someone like Armsmaster… it stirred something in my chest. It was the echo of pain. The tingling of an old scar.

There was a small part of me that didn't want to do this. That just wanted me to turn myself in and face the consequences of my actions. I might've even gotten a nice probation deal, joining the Wards or something.

I crushed that hope as I gritted my teeth and _accelerated._

His stance was odd as he began to approach. The odd bits of martial arts knowledge in my brain, coupled with a sudden clarity, led me to believe that it was a meld of an european halberd dueling form and some sort of chinese staff-fighting stance, with anything that could be considered extraneous removed for the sake of efficiency. It lacked the poise and mystery that either of its constituents were known for, in favor of a more complete defense. His stance made his silhouette as thin as possible while the halberd stood at his middle, ready to parry away any advances.

Something made me speak up.

"You don't know what you're doing. You don't know what I, or _this_ can do.", I said levelly, not stepping away from the unlidded explosive as I nodded towards it.

" _You don't look like you're in good shape"_ , he deflected. Which is fair, as I was still wearing the scorched clothing from earlier. I imagine I looked either fearsome or pathetic.

"I'm fine, thanks", I said in the calmest, most passive-aggressive tone I could manage. I hadn't noticed before, but his supposedly glorious beard isn't showing, hidden away by what seems like a gas mask that collapses out of his helmet.

" _You're stalling_ ", he stated. Was I?

"You're stalling", I parroted. I couldn't hear any troopers outside, but it must've been just a matter of time. "Not interested in the hostage?"

" _She's clearly dead. We've known this for a while._ " Bummer. They definitely have some sort of plan, then. Unless he's bluffing. " _I'm guessing the device is an explosive of some sort. I'd say binary activation, from the design._ " I really wished I could see his eyes right now.

"Good guess." Though I was just planning on setting it on fire and apporting it, really. Don't need a fuse when you have superpowers.

He simply stared at me, stepping closer each second. I didn't move back, oh no. I did something far more fun. I _pounced._

Accelerating thought was extremely useful. As I made a superpower-enhanced leap towards the leader of the Protectorate ENE, I moved far too fast for him to react, yet even so his halberd sparked and seemed ready to gore me. Predictive algorithms or reactive systems? Ultimately, it didn't matter. I touched his halberd for an instant, made it appear about a kilometer away, and jumped away by kicking at the chest of his armor and flexing my power again, sliding back towards the bomb as brutal Newtonian physics tossed him towards the other side of the room.

He got up quickly, doing some sort of complex gesture with his fingers. I prepared to dodge.

His halberd appeared back in his hands, and he quickly resumed his stance, the tip of his halberd suddenly sheathing itself in a glowing mass that seemed to arc with electricity. His plasma sheath?

" _That won't work again_ ", he said gravely, approachingh me while veering to the side slightly. Dammit. Of course he'd be prepared for that. Suddenly, he surged forwards with the back of his halberd pointing at me with a sharp hiss of decompressing air. I felt a prick on my shoulder even as I dodged. I hissed back at the weapon, tearing out the needle and tossing it away. I pulled a lighter from what still remained of my pockets and ignited it, flame close to the explosive. My legs visibly loosened, and I bit the outside of my lip.

"Tell me what that was, or...", I drawled, stumbling, and the lighter got a little closer to the-

Armsmaster _shifted_ towards me, crossing the distance between us with extreme–if not quite obviously superhuman–celerity, and grabbing the lighter from my hand.

Note: I wasn't actually dizzy.

I whirled around the hero, teleporting away his halberd again. I didn't give him the time to get it back, jumping onto him and trying to reach for the emergency release mechanisms on his helmet (I'm not sure how I knew they were there, but I did). He struggled, roughly trying to grab me and throw me off. His hands found purchase on my limbs several times, gauntleted grip hard enough to leave behind bruises. I punched and kicked his arms away, before finally twisting his helmet off with a hiss. I teleported it away, too, and punched the bastard in the back of the head, riding his unconscious body down to the floor.

...I sighed sharply. Fucker-

He _pulsed._

A wave of kinetic energy and electricity blasted out of his armor, tossing me into the ceiling even as the lightning dissipated against my skin. My world shook, as my back slammed against the solid concrete _far_ harder than I expected. But the worrying part was the lightning - even if it apparently couldn't affect me, it could still affect the bomb.

Armsmaster seemed to be wrapped in a sheath of energy in the single instant I could see him for before everything went white and red.

* * *

When I came to my senses, I was in Hell.

Or at least that's what it felt like. The smell of smoke greeted me, and I took in a deep, unbothered breath before slowly pushing myself up, despite the hellish heat around me. A quick all-around glance told me that I'd fallen to the next floor down, and that the napalm worked pretty damn well. There was fire _everywhere_. Including under me, on me, and around me.

…Yeah, my clothes are _gone_. I suppressed the urge to cover my chest, as there wasn't really anyone around. Actually, where was Armsmaster? Did get out while I was unconscious? How long was I out for, anyway…?

I frowned, surveying the floor for what I had in my pockets - there, unharmed by the fire, was that infernal black card, mysterious as always. I took it, quickly. Surely it'd must've been at least a little bit singed with how much fire I've been exposed to, today?

My questioning was interrupted by the bastard in a firesuit and what looked like a con-foam thrower on his back. I didn't think before acting. I just sort of covered myself, yelped -

And then he was on fire, screaming and rolling on the floor. I decided not to question my newfound powers of hellish rebuking, because that hasn't worked out in my favor so far.

I just got up and ran. No plans, no cleverness, no forethought. Just ran headfirst through an open window and jumped. Thankfully, I jump very, very far.

Once again, there was a flaming satyr, soaring through the air at ludicrous speeds. This time, I only screamed a little, though. Heading for the coast, I flew through the air above the police cordons, and fire trucks, eliciting several shouts of alarm. I paid them no mind, and let the wind wash away my worries.

* * *

01:06 AM, the clock told me.

It was an old-looking clock, above the door in an old restaurant with a view of the bay in the docks. Didn't look like it got a lot of traffic. Which I found understandable, looking over the horizon. It was really, really depressing, with the boat graveyard stretching out along the sealine. Though a lot of workers probably ate here, out of convenience.

I was lounging in a chair, legs propped up on a table and the corresponding tablecloth tied around my torso, proper clothes pending. If questioned, I'd say I was inspecting the card and planning my next move - but really, I was just brooding and cursing the fact that I couldn't sleep. At all. I think I was like Miss Militia, which was honestly more of a curse than a blessing right now. I just wanted to rest for a while. There were barely even stars to look at. Damn light pollution.

…Stupid city. Stupid heroes. Stupid CYOA. I huddled into the tablecloth even though I didn't feel cold.

I didn't cry, but it was sort of a near thing. This time, though, nobody popped out to scream and bring out supervillains to kill me.

It was just me.

* * *

A/N - Chapter beta: Mr. Jengablock.


	4. Chapter Three - Aftercare

I really wanted to think of a plan.

A way to salvage my situation. Fix everything. Win.

…Except I forgot what winning meant. Killing Scion, maybe? But that definitely wasn't an immediate concern. It all sounded so much clearer when you weren't the one in the middle of it.

At least I wasn't naked anymore. I looked down at my black skirt and shirt, shamelessly stolen from the display of some clothes chain store. I shifted my weight from hoof to hoof uneasily, as I rested my arms on a lone railing with a view to the bay. Skirts weren't really my thing, but, well. When your legs grow almost an inch of fur, needs must.

I couldn't actually bring myself to care about the whole satyr thing. It was _weird_ , sure, but I had other things to busy my mind with. I'd killed four people, maybe more with the explosion back at the apartment building.

As I looked out at the sealine, I figured I couldn't blame myself. It was all just… a really, really horrible run of bad luck. An Act of God, if you will; though placing blame at the Devil's door was much more fitting. I hadn't done anything wrong, had I? I'd made the best of the fate I was handed.

" …Our fate cannot be taken from us. It is a gift.", I whispered to the waves, waving my hand in the air slightly. A bit of beach sand suddenly combusted as I willed it to be so.

As if the universe was punishing me for dramatically quoting Dante's Inferno, something warmed up in my breast pocket, where I was keeping my mysterious card. Reflexively, I pulled it out, wary of having more of my clothes set on fire. It was… glowing?

No, not glowing, per se. It was a screen. A home screen, much like a smartphone's, but more streamlined; white text over a gray background.

* * *

 **X**

✝ _CrOS5_ ✝

 _ONE DELIVERY PENDING_ _!_

 _0210_

 _Store_

 _Map_ _ **(!)**_

 _Services_

 _Data_

 _Settings_

 _v666_

* * *

…Huh. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. Trying not to think about the version number and acronym, I took a deep breath and touched the 'pending delivery' icon. The screen faded into what looked like a map of Brockton Bay, with a red dot pointing out what seemed like my location, and a white dot somewhere in the city. A path was traced from one to the other.

Like… like a shadier Google Maps. It even had a toggle for the satellite view, and a live feed for… five hundred dollars a minute. Ouch. Seemed a little on the cheap side for something so hard to get, though. Maybe I had a discount.

It didn't offer much information on my 'package', other than a photo of a truck parked in an alleyway. …I didn't like alleyways much after today but figured that I had to at least check this thing out, even if it sounded incredibly shady. Also, I had nothing else to do, and wanted to stop brooding.

And that's how I ended up once again bounding across the rooftops of Brockton Bay at terminal velocity. It was turning out to be very exciting now that I was getting used to it, but goggles would be greatly appreciated.

I landed on top of the six-by-four cargo truck, my fall made silent by the same odd warping of physics that made falling head-first into gravel mostly harmless. My odd presence-sense told me that there wasn't anything dangerous around, except for a few insects crawling around aimlessly. Card in hand, I pressed the 'unlock' button, and an LED at the cargo compartment's lock shone a bright green. I opened it.

…I will never again question the odd directions of the Devil's electronic business card. Ever.

In front of me stood something straight out of a badly thought-out yet well-funded action movie. The walls were furnished with the varied contents of an entire police armory - pistols, less-lethal grenades, shotguns, a few rifles, batons and blades, plus a few pieces of specialty non-lethal equipment, like pepper spray cans and a taser gun. A short wooden crate on the floor held even more throwables and enough ammunition for a prolonged, violent siege.

The guns, however, were not the best part. No, the cherry on top was the clothed mannequin standing in front of the entrance.

I always wanted to dress like Sam Fisher. The mere thought of owning anything like the modular tac-suit he used made me sigh dreamily, though I'd probably never have the guts to wear it to a convention. Still wanted it, a lot.

The only things that stopped me from fainting gleefully that very instant were cognitive superpowers, and the fact that it came with a tactical kilt. I did, however, squee, closing the doors behind me and inspecting the sneaking suit. Its surface seemed to absorb light a bit unnaturally, and the surface was slightly rough. Running my hands across its surface made a part of my mind whisper its secrets to me: it was made of some sort of tinkertech version of Gore-Tex, with protective layers of what might have been kevlar, and small discs of an unknown ceramic material. The highly modular utility belt and storage rigs were just icing on the cake.

I made a promise to myself, then. If anyone stood between me and this heavenly thing, they would die.

Eventually, I walked away from the suit. I was _definitely_ going to try it on later but reconnaissance came first. At the back was a large couch, which I realized collapsed into a bed, and several cardboard boxes holding a few odds and ends, such as tools, electronics, water, and food. As the excitement wore off, I realized something very important.

…My secret superhero headquarters is a cargo truck filled with guns. What does that say about me? Am I Brockton Bay's first redneck cape? Really, I probably wasn't going to use most of those things unless I got a few minions… and wouldn't _that_ be nice.

I was interrupted by the strong sensation of being watched. I whirled towards the door, and narrowed my eyes - there was a distinct presence right outside. Felt like a female in her mid-teens. Wasn't Rune around that age? Could this be the inevitable meeting with Taylor Hebert? I decided not to presume, walking closer to the door. Felt like she was alone.

"…Who's there!" I shouted, slightly opening the cargo compartment's door. She didn't feel armed or dangerous, and if anything happened, I could just take the roof exit and zip away.

I heard a startled noise and a vaguely apologetic sputter, which eventually turned into human speech.

"Uh, just- nobody, ma'am!", said the teenager, who sounded about as awkward as I would if a redneck caught me staring at their trailer. I instantly sympathized but kept on. Also, ma'am? I'm not that old, dammit.

"Why are you staring at my house?" That really, definitely, absolutely was the wrong thing to say. I'm not cut out for interrogations.

There was a pause.

"...You live in an alleyway?" was the tentative answer. Dammit.

"What? No! The truck! The truck is my house! Answer the question!" I'll admit, that may not have been the best way to go about this either. Don't judge me, I was panicking.

"Uh! Right! It's just, I mean, you don't see a truck parked in an alley like that every day? And…"

"And?!" I barked out.

"Ah-! And- and that looks like a really tight fit! It'd take some really good driving to- to-" She trailed off in a panic, making me feel more than a little guilty. It wasn't like I had to start yelling.

"Jesus! Calm down! Look, I'm sorry, but why are you walking around in the street? It's, like, two in the morning."

She seemed to calm down a little, cutting off her frenzied stuttering. And, was that sniffling?

Okay, now I felt really, really bad. She spoke up after a few seconds of labored breathing.

"I, uh… I ran away from home." Huh. That's… oddly familiar. Couldn't place exactly why.

"Oh. Are you… going anywhere? Friend's house? Family member? Shelter?" I was empathizing way too much with this random stranger, but again, it just so happened that I had literally nothing else to do.

"…Not really." Oh, for fuck's sake. Now I felt responsible for her. But she'll probably freak out if she sees me, right? And, more importantly, did an image or description of me go on the news?

"That's… not really wise, you know. Someone could jump you out here."

"…Sorry. Ma'am. I, um. Didn't really have the time to think this through." Okay, now the ma'am thing was starting to get aggravating.

" _Miss_. Not ma'am. I'm seventeen years old. Do you, uh. Want to talk inside?" It was too late when I noticed that I'd invited a girl into my truck in the middle of the night. My truck filled with guns.

"Uh. Maybe just… open the door? Wouldn't that be- better?" Oh, hell. It had to happen eventually.

I thought about it for a few seconds, my mind accelerating to fit a minute's deliberation into instants. …It couldn't hurt. Famous last words, sure, but you've got to have some faith.

"Only if you promise not to scream. I'm pretty ugly."

That was probably a little too direct.

"I, I'm sure it isn't that bad? I, I promise." Thankfully, it seemed like the oddity of the situation pushed her away from crying. That would've been awkward.

I opened the door slightly and hopped down, very pointedly not letting the girl look into the truck. One thing at a time.

I had a theory as to why she hadn't been mugged yet. I'd spotted a few E88 tags on the way here, and this seemed like a relatively stable district.

This girl looked like the modern Aryan poster child. Lithe, blonde, blue eyes, school uniform and a small silver cross around her neck. Her eyes were a little puffy, and she looked more than a bit disheveled, but the image was clear. Her eyes widened as she saw me, but there was no recognition. Only the shock of defied expectations, and something akin to awe.

"…Are you the Devil?" she said breathlessly, her bright blue eyes filled with wonder.

…Huh. That's… a better reaction than expected, actually. A little insulting though. I twirled a lock of hair around my finger idly (and thank the stars it didn't burn off), tugging it in a hopefully harmless-looking form of fidgeting.

"Seventeen, remember? Pretty sure Lucifer's a little older than that. I'm just… inspired, I guess. Not my fault I have horns." It sort of was, depending on how you look at it. I still blamed whoever put me here.

"…I'm Faun", I said, lamely trying to introduce myself. Using my real name didn't feel right, for some reason.

"Oh", she said, blinking as if trying to clear away a mirage. "…Aria."

"Like the melody?" I tried not to think about how easily that name could be interpreted as having allusions to 'Aryan'.

She nodded mutely, apparently sobered by something I said. I hesitated, before opening the cargo compartment's door again. Her eyes seemed to widen a little, and she stared inside. I just hopped on.

"…I've got a spare bed, water, and food. You coming in?"

She faltered, looking back at the street for a moment. I stood patiently as she made her decision.

I was probably going to regret this later. But… she needed help, and I had nothing better to do, right?

…The loneliness might've helped my decision along, too.

After what felt like an eternity, Aria nodded to herself and walked over in a hurry. I offered a hand, and she took it hesitantly, pulling herself up.

I'd better not regret this. And it'd be great if I could get the nagging feeling that I was forgetting something out of my head...


	5. Chapter Four - Revelations

It was a long night.

At some point, while we ate our snack cereal bars in silence, it started to rain. My new home proved to be waterproof, for which I'm very glad. The sound of the storm was pleasant.

We didn't talk much. There was a brief, somewhat betrayed confusion on her part as I ended up having to explain that no, I wasn't planning on making her sleep with me on the bed, I didn't _have_ to sleep; but it was all otherwise fine.

She seemed even more reserved after that, and quickly fell asleep after laying down, exhausted. I could feel her eyes glued on me until the second her consciousness faded- I'd say this girl might have been almost as paranoid as me, but the fact that I looked like a demon and invited her to sleep in my truck very much justified her actions.

Sunrise was still some time away, so I spent my time silently setting up a laptop computer I found inside one of the many boxes spread around the place. It was a lot like the Chromebook, but even more streamlined and with something called a 'CrOS5 Uplink' on the toolbar. Very businesslike.

I used it to fuck around and watch cat videos on the mobile broadband until the sun rose.

It was soothing. I was worried for a moment that cat videos weren't as big a deal here as back in… _reality_ , but it seemed like there were some constants. Though Google Video was the new main video hosting site, so that was odd. Why Google existed and YouTube didn't is a mystery. I bet it was Cauldron, though.

Thoughts like that kept me sane through the night, my abnormally focused cognition leaping onto puzzles (often many at once) and furiously struggling with them. I couldn't get tired anymore, it seemed, physically or mentally. Every cognizant instant was spent doing something. If not for having the Internet to focus on, I'd probably have ended up being driven mad by the day's events through the silence.

The blood on my hands. The certainty that almost everyone in Brockton Bay would scorn me for the damage I'd caused. That the nazis had me marked for death.

…

I did get some things done, though. A few internet searches confirmed most of my knowledge of the universe: Earth Bet, connection with Earth Aleph, Endbringers, Scion.

I pointedly didn't search for Cauldron. From what I gathered, this thing was running encrypted signals back and forth across… a hell of a lot of places, making me pretty much untrackable, but the Number Man could probably still find me in a second. Best Thinker.

I also, with perfectly understandable hesitation, had a superficial look at the obviously illegal software on there. Clicking it prompted me to 'insert card'; it was pretty obvious what that meant, so I slotted in the possibly satanic tinkertech rectangle into the computer.

It was a like a meld of craigslist and the Silk Road, reimagined by Armsmaster. Sleek, easy to use, and had really good prices for slaves. I mean, wow, twelve-year old middle-eastern kid for just four hundred dollars? Jaw-dropping.

I resolved to kill whoever made that listing at some point. Painfully.

There were bounties (none on me yet, thankfully), mercenary contracts, mercenary _listings_ , and all kinds of illegal jobs: contraband transports, high-profile assassinations, grand thefts. All things that were decidedly not wise to just publish on the dark web. Was this thing giving me secret information? How? What happens if I publish it?

I was quickly taken away from that train of thought by the fact that I had a balance of about fifteen thousand american dollars.

Opening the 'bank' menu in awe, I found out that, apparently, there were a few underworld bounties for the teleporting assassin, and that the AI assistant negotiated the cash transfers for me. All safely stored in a stable offshore account.

…So much for 'vigilante' not being a stable job. I definitely wouldn't be getting at Batman's level anytime soon, but hey, I already had all the toys.

And after that little adventure, I went back to my cat videos and tried to forget about the contents of the 'slaves' shop category. More wrongs to right later. The ABB worked with sex trafficking, right?

I'd probably feel better once I ended them.

* * *

In her dreams, the girl ran. She ran in fear: fear of consequence, fear of punishment, fear of constraints. And yet the girl also ran out of joy: joy from freedom, joy from love, joy from renewal.

The scenery shifted with every passing glance; one moment, it was the corridors of her quiet home, an indescribable presence in the air making her feel heavy, making her choke. The girl continued to run.

The home faded like a dying echo; it gave way to a thick forest of concrete, countless smooth pillars with lengths of chain tied above, swaying carelessly in a wind the girl couldn't feel. It seemed like she couldn't reach high enough to get to the breeze. She screamed, a wild swing of her arm toppling a single pillar. She took the chain.

Everything shattered; the pieces coalesced into the shifting outline of a city, specific details covered by shapeless murk. The sky was dark, yet the stars that could not be seen were felt. They were countless, their intentions unknowable. The girl reached out to them, chain gripped tightly in one hand. A few stars reached back, entranced by the freed metal.

The stars pushed past the veil; small lights pierced the girl's skin and seeped into her being. Hope grew in her heart as the stars whispered secrets in her ear, telling stories of valiant fighters across the cosmos. They were more machine than man, altering themselves to better protect the innocent. The stars showed her how they came to be.

But as the girl ran, the stars began to quiet, leaving her to think about the nothingness around her. Her step slowed, and she looked behind herself for pursuers. Nothing was there to chase her. The chain clattered against the floor, its purpose forgotten after so long. The girl began to dread punishment once more, looking side to side for a hidden aggressor.

Eventually, her search bore fruit, as she stumbled upon a strange temple. She gazed upon it for too long, and something gazed back.

A somber, regal figure stepped out of the temple, more vivid than anything else in this dream. Eyes that glowed in the dark of night, icy and piercing. Ebony horns elegantly curved, framing a savage smile on a gentle face. The Devil beckoned.

The girl knew it was no mere demon, seeing the seventeen spheres tied to its soul on silver strings. Each one was far brighter than the girl's own stars, all of them together utterly eclipsing her meager brightness. Every one of the spheres seemed concentrated on the girl, and she could glean some of their capabilities - a quiet scribe, noting her every movement; a steadfast sculptor, shaping the Devil's body for conflict and maintaining the perfection of its form; an eager lesser demon ready to spread hellfire at any moment.

The girl felt mixed emotions at the sight. Wonder and awe at the power on display, a thrilling fear of being crushed like a bug, her soul whisked away to the depths of hell.

She was quite surprised when the archdemon leaned close and took her hand in a soft grip, a conspiratorial grin on its beautiful, terrifying face. The girl was guided into the temple, shown the many tools of killing haphazardly arranged against the walls, her stars whispering about their function all the while.

The girl was offered a place in the Devil's court, had a feast offered to her, and finally, was brought to the Devil's sleeping quarters, laid upon the bed as the demon coyly looked away. She could still feel the scribe's eyes boring on her, cooperating with another, more passive star to track and interpret her every movement.

Weary after so much running, she went to sleep, almost comfortable with the gaze of the Morning Star on her neck.

And so Aria woke up.

* * *

When my new roommate opened her eyes, I was downloading cartoons while playing online chess. While reading Kant's Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals. While occasionally checking the news satellite I'd hacked into.

Hypercognition has its benefits.

Honestly, I was getting tired of Kant's crap at that point, so I was glad for the change in focus. I was aware of every rustle she made as she seemed to pretend to sleep, watching me quietly. Should I be offended? Creeped out? I settled on 'amused' after some deliberation, before speaking up.

"Are the horns really that distracting, or am I just pretty?" Flirting probably wasn't the appropriate response here, but I felt like keeping this girl off-balance for a bit was in my best interests. Besides, the way she twitched and started to blush was priceless. ...I admittedly have a bit of a thing for messing with people. Her answer took me a little off-guard, in turn.

"...Are you a supervillain?" She spoke hesitantly, as if she wasn't sure of what she was asking, either. Am I? I could sense her reaching for the cross around her neck. Maybe it made her feel safe - it definitely looked like an expensive specimen when I saw it yesterday.

"…Not _quite_." Aria seemed to clutch the cross more tightly at that. It was… a little ominous, now that I thought about it. I quickly continued.

"Illegal vigilante, sure. I'm definitely breaking a lot of laws." I gestured around the room, which was still thoroughly decorated with firearms. "But Villain's a bit too harsh. I try to only hurt bad people."

Aria seemed to still at that, and it left us in silence for a while, while I waited on a particularly tense move on my chess game. The girl sat up, staring at the laptop monitor and blinking a few times. Thankfully, she didn't call me out on my deplorable technique.

"So… you live in a truck filled with a bunch of guns, but you're not a villain?"

I couldn't help it, I broke out laughing. It did look that way, didn't it? Aria was fairly taken aback by that, to the point of bristling slightly. She spoke up with a surprising amount of venom.

"What are you laughing at, you _dyke_?"

I stopped at that. It wasn't the best insult, but it gave me pause. She covered her mouth. I forfeited the chess game, closing the laptop and getting up as she paled, smoothing my skirt idly and re-evaluating my opinion on this girl. She spoke up, desperate.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, I won't do it again!" Her tone was pleading. Terrified, even. I ran a hand through my hair, expression neutral as I went over my options. I must've looked fairly intimidating, because she went on.

"I'm sorry! I'll be good, please don't hu-"

"It's fine.", I interrupted her, firmly but calmly. "Slipped off the tongue. Acquired habit, right?" She flinched at that, clutching her cross like a lifeline. I assumed I'd hit close to home. "Right. Well, _Aria_ , I'll forgive you. As long as you tell me one thing. Who the hell are you running from?"

She stopped, eyes wide as she looked over me warily. A full fifteen seconds were spent calming down, as Aria wiped at her face, getting rid of the tears before they could start running down. I felt a little bad for doing that to her, sure, but… that wasn't nice of her in the slightest, was it? I thanked whatever gods may be for my poker face, squatting down slightly to meet the girl's eyes at her level. Normally, even keeping this position would tax my legs a little, but I felt absolutely no exertion. I noted that I could reach forward and snap my tentative new friend's neck in under a second. But it was just a thought, lost in the wind.

"...Empire.", she whispered, like that explained everything. I pressed on, gently.

"And why is the Empire looking for you?" She winced at the question, but I kept the pressure on. It had to be jarring, to see me change from easygoing to laser-focused so quickly; honestly, it felt jarring to me, too. I'd wanted to put this off as long as possible, because, well, I really liked the concept of having someone around to be with after all the shit that happened yesterday.

But my mood was soured now, and there's no time like the present. Her response was quiet, hesitant, like an intimate secret.

"... _I'm a tinker._ "

 _Click._

The pieces snapped into place. The cross, the wording, the faint feeling that I was forgetting something. And now the powers. I pressed on again, tilting my head questioningly.

"Just a tinker?" Her eyes widened at that, liked I'd busted open what little cover she still had. In the same hesitant, quiet tone, she answered.

"N-no, I'm… I can see… powers." I stared at her for a moment more, before raising a hand slowly and tapping Aria on the cheek twice. She froze, but didn't flinch, suddenly seeming rather befuddled. I turned around, sighing.

"I let you sleep over in my truck, and you think one little slur and a secret'll make me throw you out? For _shame_ , Aria." She squeaked out something incomprehensible, but I had better things to think about.

My _Follower_ , Aria, designed by me as a girl from an Empire family with powers that best lent themselves to support. I was glad that I hadn't piled up disadvantages on her, creating a traumatized mess so that I could have a more powerful minion. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.

I decided to discard thoughts of morality, for now. Did she have some sort of compulsion to follow me? Maybe, but what could I even do if that was the case? It wasn't like I was planning to make her risk her life for me. I wouldn't dare push that.

"Still," I said. "We should talk about your future."

And that's how I got my first recruit.


End file.
